I've been walking all day, and I'm paying the price for bringing The Wrong Boots. At 6500 feet the temperature is up, the trail is hot, and a crucial part of my plan is not panning out. I'd hoped to meet someone on the trail that I could ask for some moleskin, but haven't seen anyone yet, and I'm now completely out of the useless stuff I was given a few days ago. I'm not sure how I'll continue if I don't run into someone soon...

For much of way, this trail has meandered up and down along the lower slopes of the canyon, away from the river, but at certain points it cuts in close, one of those being the stretch which is home to Devil's Washbasin. About 100 feet below the cliff edge of the trail, I look and long for that cool, clear rushing water. The outflow of Devil's Washbasin surges through a narrow slot in the rock, providing a quick, if violent exit for anyone foolish enough to go for a swim.